The Lockhart Paradigm
by raileht
Summary: Diane Lockhart gets a little help from her friend. And yep, they get drunk.  *Original character and McHart.*


**The Lockhart Paradigm**  
by: raileht  
**  
****Summary: **the story where Diane Lockhart calls for help.  
**Disclaimer:** The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.  
**Rating: **T, a mild one

**Spoilers/Timeline:** nothing specific.  
**Warning:** Originally for this series I'm working on, but this one just kept growing until it turned into this MASSIVE one-shot. The WARNING part though is for the kiddies around here: some potty mouth, innuendos—subtle and not so subtle so you guys should know what's right and wrong here, okay?** J**ust my usual brand of crap.

**Warning 2:  
**possibly a **crack!fic**...uhm, some OOCness and god knows what else. Someone gets drunk, okay? Lots of naughty and bad words.

-o0oo0oo0o-

"I come bearing gifts."

"Oh, thank god," was the greeting that returned the somewhat dramatic declaration but it wasn't for the arrival of the visitor, rather, it was for the bottle of her finest scotch that she'd brought along. Once that was gone, said visitor was then ignored as the receiver turned away, leaving the door wide open, an obvious sign that said she let herself in.

Then again, maybe that was the hostess' way of saying she didn't care whether she stayed or not when she already got what she wanted. the bitch.

"Oh, it's nice to see you too, darling and no, I didn't get out of work just for you, don't worry. It was _no_ trouble at all, driving through the goddamned snow in the goddamned freezing hellhole of Chicago! And yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking! Your concern is overwhelming, oh, stop!"

Sarcasm rang through almost every part of the immediate vicinity and just as she expected, she was once again ignored. She would leave if she could, but no way in hell she was letting that blonde _stick_ enjoy that bottle alone—she earned half of that bottle for dragging her ass to here too.

Bethany Abbot slipped off her coat and her gloves, watching as the tall blonde's back continued to retreat without a word. She knew where she was heading and she almost had to laugh out loud when she remembered the phone call she got during lunch.

_"Come now. I am officially calling this an emergency. I don't care how you do it, I don't care if it's Friday and/or if you have a case. I'm at home." _

For a moment, she'd been worried, but she had replayed the message over and over again. She'd called her firm, checked with her too-sweet of an assistant if anything odd had happened lately. Nothing, she was told, except that _Miss Lockhart_ had gone home during lunch that day, claiming she wasn't feeling well.

Which was bullshit, of course, because only Ebola or a meteor the size of Texas could keep the woman from work and Bethany said so. She could imagine the sweet girl on the other end of the line getting flustered at the continuous probing but that didn't stop the persistent hellhound of a lawyer. It took her four sentences to find out _Miss Lockhart _had been somewhat distracted all day, especially before she left work.

Bethany had scowled at the phone and hung up, frowning at herself and hating the other girl on the line. Four questions with an _assistant_? How pathetic was that? She must be losing her touch, which irked her to no end. She was going to have to do some_ serious_ de-bitching soon—this was unacceptable.

Then again, the fact that the 'emergency' call _worried_ her and therefore caused her face to frown even when she tried her damdnest not to—that just _pissed_ her off. This better be important, she had thought acidly as she swept away from her office with a wave of her hand, because she was going to kill _Miss Lockhart_ if she got a wrinkle out of this for nothing. She was so paying for her next botox treatment and by god, it was _not_ going to be cheap.

Now, here she was, all the way across town being ignored after having her bottle of fifty-year-old scotch so easily taken away. Something had to be wrong, she thought, frowning again though this time she didn't _really_ care anymore as she traced the blonde's clacking footsteps. This was odd, even for _Miss Lockhart_.

"Skinny?" the shorter but curvier blonde called out, finding the den easily and descending the set of four steps down to the darker and dimly lit room. It was one of her favorite parts of her friend's brownstone. Her den was private and intimate, had the best set of alcohol _and_ it was perfect for talking and laughing together. Few people were allowed here and as far as Bethany knew, she was the only one who could go in there without a direct invitation.

This particular section of the house was strictly for _special people _Diane liked to entertain and as prima Donna as that seemed, Bethany loved the genius and pure naughtiness of it. Of course, the main idea of the room was to entertain people Diane truly valued, but Bethany preferred to think she had this room more for her _boys_ and she often liked to tease her about it.

Diane would scoff and turn her nose up, declaring she was _above_ the deviancy of having a sex room, but that didn't deter the curvy spitfire from insinuating the raunchiest things that crossed her mind anyway.

She used to have one in her brownstone, but she got married and her husband insisted on a bar and just a bar only because he'd demanded they have separate offices at home or else end up killing each other. He was a complete OCD-whackjob, as she liked to call him, and she liked her office tastefully chaotic.

Even with the threat of a divorce, he hadn't relented so in a rare occurrence in her marriage, Bethany had compromised, kicking and screaming and all that.

But as punishment for making her do such a heinous thing, she withheld sex for a week.

"Darling," she sing-songed again, stepping into the den just as Diane finished pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid into two tumblers, "Oh, you remembered…I'm touched."

She was ignored yet again as Diane picked up one of the drinks and drank deeply, seemingly unbothered by the burn though she let her eyes close slowly. Bethany watched, fascinated when she put the tumbler down, showing she'd drowned half of her drink in one toss.

Her throat must be burning like a bitch, she thought, tossing her bag down onto the long black leather couch and plopped down in the most unladylike manner, kicking off her high heels and hiking up her already somewhat short tight skirt all the way up to her thighs. She rested her feet on the table in front of them, swiping the drink from the table and drank more slowly.

"Okay," Bethany said after savoring the slow burn that blazed its way deliciously down her throat. "Who did you kill and where are we burying the body?"

She stared ahead, her face somewhat set into a serious expression and she waited. This was the difference between the two of them—Bethany tended to scream, rant and rage her frustration and anger out loud until she ran out of gas while Diane tended to sit down quietly and forced her to sit through the stretch of silence until she was ready to talk.

Bethany had tried to pull things out of her before, but she never succeeded. It frustrated her and tempted her to just beat the story out of her occasionally reticent friend, but given their history, she knew her taller friend could more than take her—even when inebriated—so she had learned to behave and _try_ her hand at patience.

It was a miracle and a sign, really. She didn't even practice this much effort with her husband, but then again, Bethany knew she was more likely to commit murder for her friend than her own husband but that was a different story—it was a loyalty thing that even vows could not surpass.

They sat in silence and for once, Bethany only had to wait until the first glass was finished before she got anything from the woman beside her.

"He said it."

-o0o-

"You're gonna have to give me a little more, honey."

Bethany tried to make light of the situation, but even that wasn't working when her friend merely shrugged and she waited again, tracing the rim of her tumbler with a nail painted in a wild fire engine red.

"Evan Morris," Diane said simply, "Our first year in law school, just after midterms."

She stopped, puzzled for a moment and wracked her memory. What the fuck did that mean? Bethany wracked her mind. That name was supposed to ring a bell but she was pretty drunk most of their freshmen year at Yale and that was the year she almost got kicked out. If it hadn't been for Diane, she would have completely lost it. Morris, Morris, Morris. Why was that name familiar?

Then she remembered.

"Evan Morris," she repeated, rolling the name in her mouth and feeling the familiarity, "He was that whiny little thing who…"

She stopped, trailing off as she slowly turned towards her friend, realizing just _what_ she was trying _not_ to voice out and _who_ exactly she was talking about, "He _didn't_."

"Yes," Diane nodded slowly, pouring herself another glass and downed it in one, barely flinching. "He did…and yes, the irony of the situation hasn't gone unnoticed either. How can this be happening to me? This is something that happens to _you_ and during school or, you know, when you're still technically allowed to be stupid and naïve."

"If anyone was naïve, it's him," Bethany said, shrugging, "But fuck, Diane…seriously? Exact same thing or…?"

"It didn't happen in the backseat of a car," Diane said, visibly grimacing now. "But the rest of it? Yes, similar…although I supposed mine could be _less_ stupid because, well, we're adults and he's not a horny stressed out jittery law student like Morris was who was really just out to get laid."

"How flattering of an image," Bethany said sarcastically, "Thank you."

"Oh, please," Diane scoffed slightly, "You were out to get laid too."

"Did I ever tell you that you're a complete bitch when you're drunk?" she said though her tone was playful rather than mean-spirited.

"Yes, but so are you," Diane shrugged. Her hand flew to her face, long fingers splaying out to cover her eyes and her palm over her mouth, as if trying to block images and trying to keep herself silent. "What am I going to do?"

"You're asking me?"

"Yes," Diane said, lifting her palm a little as to not let her words come out muffled and unintelligible, "I got you through the Morris affair, among _other_ things. You owe me this. And no, the scotch is _not_ payment because _I_ gave you this."

Bethany laughed a little, "Oh! You did! I forgot…"

"I'm going to try and not take that personally."

"Only because you need me."

"Yes," Diane nodded.

"He really said _it_…" Bethany said slowly, as if truly digesting it. She was being more serious now, more helpful. Diane in an emotional crisis was about more potentially chaotic than Diane being ornery about a case.

"Yes."

"During—"

"_Yes_," she said, cutting her off.

"What were you doing?"

Diane turned to her, giving her a look, "Are you forgetting the details of Evan Morris?"

"No, but…" Bethany sighed, "Honey, let me just ask you this, okay? So we don't get our stories crossed—were you and your cowboy having sex when he said those three little words that can pretty much push you over the emotional edge and turn you into this miserable basket of neurotic hot mess?"

Diane grimaced, "Thank you for the imagery…"

"Mind porn," Bethany smirked, "You're welcome."

"I am _not_ thinking about that right now."

She snorted, "Of course, you're not." She laughed a little, "Come off it, Diane. Just admit it already—you've slept with the enemy, gone to the dark side and you're no longer Miss Pure of Heart. You've fallen, my dear, off the precipice of saint hood. You're not innocent nor you are an angel…you're fucked."

"Bethany, god!"

"Yeah, I bet he's not too happy with you too," she smirked, "But honestly, Skinny, it's not as if I'm not aware that that amazing yet politically flawed piece of ass has turned you into a sex addict."

"Shut up."

"On the floor, in your room, in the kitchen, in his lab, in his room," Bethany listed off, ignoring the sharp nails that clamped over her arm. She'd worn a thick suit today because of the cold, she'd feel the nails later when they dig a little deeper, "And let's not forget about the limo after that fundraising…"

"Do you catalogue all the places we had sex in just for fun?" the other blonde scoffed, downing another shot. "Or do you just take a perverse joy out of delighting that this man has turned me into this-this—"

"Nymphomaniac?" she supplied, only to have the nails release her arm and suddenly have that same hand land viciously over her arm, "Ow!"

"Don't be crude!"

"Well, I'm not the one having sex with the man non-stop," she declared, "In fact, I envy you! Can you imagine how boring it can get sleeping with the same man for how many goddamned years?"

"I am _not_ having sex with him non-stop!"

"You kind of are," Bethany laughed a little. "Face it, whenever he's around, you can't help yourself…it's chemical, I think. You've turned into a serotonin junkie…not that I can blame you. He's gorgeous and beautiful then add the fact that he's basically forbidden—"

"He is _not_ forbidden…"

"He's a Republican and you're Diane Lockhart," she declared, "He's basically fruit from the poisonous tree, dear and yes, I can _totally_ imagine what an aphrodisiac that can be...brings out the bad girl feeling, doesn't it? Makes it all the more delicious."

"No, it doesn't…"

"Oh, please, it's the same thing as that inexplicable attraction women have with bad boys," Bethany scoffed, "Like your little thing with Kenneth Hadley, remember that one?"

If there had been enough light in the room, she would have spotted the faint blush that rose to the other woman's cheeks, "No."

"Liar," Bethany said knowingly. "He had a bike, a tattoo _and_ your brother hated his guts. He was _so_ wrong yet so devilishly sexy, you basically started your first night together doing foreplay on a pool table in that off campus bar we used to go to all the time."

"Oh, god…"

"Face it, Diane," her friend continue, "You've got a thing for what's not allowed and even possibly scandalous, which is sexy and could have easily landed you anyone, but pair that with your…inability to become a complete whore, well, that kind of kills it so it's not _that_ apparent…smart though. As always."

Diane kept silent.

Bethany sighed, "Leave it to you to be logical and come out smelling like roses in the wake of playing the whore of Babylon with your lovers…"

"I do not play the whore of Babylon," Diane sniped, "That's your specialty, dear."

"Well, we all know _that_," the other woman replied cheekily. "Still, it's amazing Chicago's completely oblivious to your…_dark side_."

"I do not have a dark side—"

"Aaron Giles," Bethany inserted, "He was forbidden too."

"And we're getting off the subject," Diane scoffed, "And I'm nearly done with the bottle and that means I'm nearly semi-drunk so…fix this already."

"How?" Bethany sighed, "I can't fix it like we fixed it with Evan Morris…technically, I'm still married."

"Technically?"

"I kind of hate my husband right now," she shrugged, "But I know he's planning to buy me something from Cartier so that should solve things with what's-his-name." She paused, "So no, I can't seduce him away from you…like you did with Evan."

"I did _not_ seduce Evan."

"Of course not," Bethany snorted, "You just made him feel so guilty 'cheating' on me with you in his head, he broke down."

"You make me sound so cruel."

"You saved me from the imp, I think that makes you a hero."

Diane tilted her head to the side, "You had the _worst_ taste in men…"

"So did you," she shrugged, "It was the Age of Stupid. All of it was excusable."

"You slept with Kerry Pert," Diane pointed out. "You _fucked_ him off the path to priesthood."

"And it was sinfully delicious," she sighed, "And you just said fuck…you have got to be loosening up already. Good. It's about time boozey-Diane came out to play and you know how much I love her…she's a hoot!"

"You were such a whore," Diane said with a laugh, ignoring the remarks about the drunk version of herself.

"Back at you, babe."

-o0o-

"So, tell me what exactly happened…"

"I am not discussing my sex life with you," Diane said primly—as primly as she could with more than half of a bottle of scotch in her bloodstream. "Not after-after what you just rehashed…

"You'll tell me the details after we crack open bachelor number three anyway," she motioned to the bar, "Señor Cuervo never fails to deliver."

Diane moaned, "That's how you got me to tell you about the limo…"

"And by god, that was _so_ hot," Bethany sighed, fanning herself with one hand to further illustrate her claim. "The dress ripping and the—"

"Stop," Diane practically whimpered, slumping in her seat slightly, her long legs now resting on her best friend's thighs. "…I still have the dress."

"I would imagine," Bethany grinned stupidly, "The mere image of you taking in that beautiful Dior masterpiece for some…_fixing_ is hilarious enough."

Diane groaned, "Would you stop?"

"Come on, it's a little funny," Bethany grinned, "And a _lot_ naughty."

"Tell me how to fix this."

"You're asking for help?" Bethany said, laughing. "Damn you, doing this when I don't have a tape recorder handy…then again, I could always use my phone. It would make the most _perfect_ ring tone."

"In your dreams," Diane mumbled, "Now…what do I do?"

"Tell me what happened."

"We argued about…" she paused, frowning slightly, "I don't know, something about that idiot Palin and the ridiculous 2012 thing—yes, dream on—and we ended up in bed…"

"Naturally," Bethany said sarcastically, "I always use political topics as foreplay. God, you are kinky."

Diane ignored her sarcasm, "We were in bed," she shrugged, looser now that her bloodstream was doing a happy dance, "Doing…_you know_ and then I said something like…_I love arguing with you_ and he just went and said…_it_."

"It?" Bethany laughed, "God, it's amazing how emotionally screwed up you are…more amazing that between the two of us, I'm the one that's married and you _know_ they're still talking about this, our old friends from law school."

"Can you blame them? You had a colorful past," Diane shrugged.

"So did you, you were just better at hiding it."

"And beside you, I was the Virgin Mary."

"If she had lied about the Immaculate Conception."

"We're going to hell."

"Remind me to pack something slinky."

Diane suddenly laughed, "Bizarre conversations have always been our specialty."

"I know, we're so good at it," her friend replied dryly.

"And we're getting off—"

"Kinky!"

"—_topic_," Diane finished then looked at her empty glass, "Why did I stop drinking?"

"Fuck if I know," Bethany grumbled, grabbing the bottle she had grabbed from the bar, "Time for our old friend Johnnie Walker Blue."

"He's always been faithful," Diane commented dryly, raising her glass in a silent request for some of the mind-erasing concoction. She was glad tomorrow—today? What time was it?—was going to be a Saturday because she knows she's going to be paying for this dearly.

"So, what happened? After the, er, slip?"

"We kind of froze," she admitted, pinking at the cheeks slightly again though this time she's not sure if it's the drink or the flash of embarrassment she felt, picturing them like that.

He'd been in the middle of kissing her neck while she mumbled this or that—about loving arguing with him—and they froze together, his hand somewhere on her hip and the other one bracing itself on the bed so as not to crush her. Her fingers had been in his hair, both hands delighting in the soft strands and they lay there like that, god knew how long until—

"I blinked, what the hell was I supposed to say or do?" she moaned, closing her eyes and covering them with her hand and wonder when she'd begun to shake a little. "I said, 'foreplay is foreplay' then we just kept going…as if nothing happened."

Bethany snorted, "Smooth. This happened last night?"

"Mhm," Diane nodded. "By the time we woke up, I was late for work and he had to get home…he's had a case today. He might have to go to Nevada soon."

"Ooh," Bethany cooed, "Anywhere near Sin City?"

"I didn't ask."

"Of course, you didn't," Bethany frowned, "Let me guess…you made a big deal out of being late, got the hell out of dodge and didn't even stop for a quick make out session."

"Make out? What am I, sixteen?" she frowned, "I had to get to work."

"Of course, because bosses get in trouble when they're late…"

"I have to set an example," she huffed.

"You are _so_ full of shit," Bethany chuckled throatily. "Are you forgetting who you're heading into oblivion with tonight, Diane?"

"I wish you the worst hangover of your life tomorrow morning," Diane mumbled.

Bethany nodded solemnly, "It'll be well worth it…now, keep going. What happened next?"

"What else do you expect? A musical number?" Diane groused, "Nothing. That's it."

"So the guy tells you he loves you _in flagrante delicto_," the other woman shrugged, "You're hardly the first to go through this. Why the binge?"

Diane thought for a moment, swirling her glass in one hand as a sobering thought came to her, "Because…he's not the type of man who would say something like that and not mean it."

Bethany let her head loll to the side, looking at her friend again, "You mean…"

She sighed, "Yes…he _might've_ meant it, Bethany."

Her best friend sighed, "Oh, boy."

-o0o-

"Well, that was a buzz kill."

"Yes, that's very helpful, Bethany," Diane said dryly, taking another sip of her drink. "I'm trying to remember why I called you now because aside from helping me finish the drinks, you haven't helped me with anything."

"You called me because I'm the only one who knows about your deep, dark, carnal secrets," Bethany smirked, "Besides, who else would you call?"

Diane thought for a moment, "Oh, god. Talk about another sobering thought…I have no other friends."

"I will pretend that isn't offensive," the other woman teased, patting her skirt clad thigh with one hand while the other tipped her tumbled down, downing the rest of her drink. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Try and get drunk again seems like a good idea right now," Diane muttered.

"Sorry, honey, not tonight," Bethany sighed, "What are we telling lover boy, hm?"

"I don't know," she admitted quietly. "It's not as if…"

"What? Don't leave me high and dry now," Bethany mumbled, reaching for the bottle again to pour them both drinks. "We're almost out of Johnnie, but not to worry," she grabbed another bottle, this time the Jose Cuervo she'd mentioned earlier, "Bachelor number three is ready and waiting."

"Are we trying to die tonight?" Diane mused.

"Babe, you know it's going to take more than these three to kill us," Bethany chuckled dryly, "Rumor has it even silver bullets can't affect us."

"How comforting," she mumbled, "…he has one, you know?"

"Your cowboy?" Bethany snorted, "Cute. What, does he believe in werewolves or some crap like that?"

"Nope," the other woman replied, "Just has one…it was kind of pretty."

"Diane, your grandfather just turned in his grave again," Bethany snickered, "Keep going and he'll be pin wheeling right out of that grave to knock some sense into you."

"Well wouldn't that be a sight?" Diane muttered. "God…what am I going to do?"

Bethany patted her knee, "I don't know. We castrate, mutilate, break and emotionally scar them…I don't think we've ever done anything like this before."

"That makes us heartless bitches," Diane pointed out.

"Yeah, pretty much," Bethany shrugged, "But then again…since you're so fucked up about this, this is proof."

"Of what?"

"You're not a heartless bitch after all."

Diane frowned a little before reaching for the third bottle on table, "I think it's time for bachelor number three."

-o0o-

"Drink this."

"What the hell is that?"

"Pickle juice."

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

"Drink it," he placed the glass in front of her, shaking his head slightly before turning towards the things he had laid out onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. "It'll help cure the hangover."

"Why can't I wait for that instead? Hair of the dog never fails."

"You're gonna want that first," he mumbled as he began to check if he had everything he needed.

"I don't think so…"

"Fine, keep your hangover," he said, shrugging simply. "What the hell happened last night? I walked in and it looked like a frat house in there."

"We got thirsty," she said, "And a little crazy…and it wasn't a frat house. We didn't get to score weed."

"Weed?"

"Like the good old days," she grinned a little but it quickly turned into a grimace, "Christ…"

"Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The drinking?"

"We got thirsty."

"You already said that. So, why? Did you lose a case or something?"

"I resent that," she hissed then stopped, moaning pitifully. "Oh, god…that hurts. Ow."

"Drink the juice," he said without looking at her.

"It's disgusting."

"It won't kill you."

"It just might…"

He sighed, "Fine. Like I said, keep your hangover, if you like it so much."

"You're not as nice as you made yourself look before," she mumbled.

He shook his head, "Can you blame me? Picking up after two grown women isn't exactly my ideal way of passing time at two in the morning…"

She sighed, "No one asked you."

"I'm trying to help you, shouldn't you be nicer to me?"

"I _just_ helped you, _you_ should be nicer _to me_."

"What are you talking about?"

Bethany Abbot grinned, "You'll see."

-o0o-

The sounds that greeted him when he entered the room was not pleasant but even so, he was glad that the sounds were coming from the bathroom instead of the room itself.

At least she'd made it to the bathroom.

Placing the tray onto the bedside table, he walked into the bathroom just in time to watch her shakily reach to flush the toilet. He shook his head a little, crouching behind her and doing it for her while pulling her hair away from her face, "Hey…"

"Oh, god, go away…" Diane moaned and attempted to crawl away from him, easing her head away from his grasp as she turned away.

"What? What did I do?"

She moaned, "You're not supposed to see me like this…I'm a disgusting mess."

He shook his head, grinning a little as he pulled her back to him, "You're fine."

"I look and feel like crap," she grumbled, burying her face in her hands, "Lying won't help me."

He nodded, "Okay. Stay here, 'kay?"

"I'll die here, don't worry," she grumbled grumpily, swaying a little on the spot as she sat on the floor of her bathroom. "God…what was I thinking last night?"

He grinned a little as he reached for the washcloth he'd prepared earlier that morning, "After seeing the damage in the den, I don't think you were doing much thinking."

"Oh, my god…" she moaned, swaying dangerously before teetering sideways.

"Whoa, whoa," he said, turning just in time to see what was happening. He leap forward, sliding onto the floor just in time to catch her before she fell completely, "Hey, come on. Don't do that…you'll crack that pretty head of yours wide open."

Diane moaned again, "Kill me…right now…"

"Nah," he said, smiling a little as he pressed the cool wet cloth onto her cheeks. "Come on, time to wake up. We're going to get you something to make you feel better."

"Nothing's going to make this feel better…this is death."

He cracked a smile, "You're going to be fine."

"You shouldn't lie to a dying person."

-o0o-

Standing by the doors of the master bedroom and wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, Bethany Abbot clutched the highball glass as if it was a life preserver. She had one ear pressed to the doors and she had to smother the laugh that threatened to escape her lips as she listened to what was going on inside the room.

_"I am not drinking that. It's disgusting."_

_"It'll make you feel better."_

_"I'd rather throw up…and that's what will happen if you make me drink that."_

_"Diane…"_

_"No! ...ow, don't yell. It hurts."_

_"I didn't yell, you did."_

_"Well, don't make me yell."_

_"Come on, it's just pickle juice—"_

_"Say that again and I will throw up on you."_

_"Diane…"_

_"Give me the bloody Mary."_

_"Drink the juice."_

_"No."_

_"Make me."_

_"Oh, honey, you don't wanna make me do that." _

Bethany smothered a laugh. Those two could fight, she thought gleefully before turning away from the door. The man could make a mean bloody Mary, she thought, and even though the pickle shit was disgusting, she couldn't help but agree that it did work.

Wobbling down back to the first floor while clutching at the walls of her best friend's brownstone, the blonde licked her lips in anticipation, glad that her best friend's boyfriend was smart enough to make a large batch of the delicious drink that doubled as a cure. Damn, she thought, she should have kept him to herself.

Then she remembered she was married.

Bethany rolled her eyes, "Ah, fuck."

-o0o-

"I really don't like you right now."

"That's okay," he nodded, ushering Diane as she wobbled back to the bathroom again, "Just get better and you'll be back to your sunny self."

"Bite me."

He smothered the laugh that almost escaped him.

On the bedside table there stood two empty highball glasses, the other one still filled with dregs of red flecks from the tomato, while the other stood clear except for the few drops of greenish yellow liquid from the pickle juice. Beside the two glasses, two empty packets of Advil sat.

"No, really, I do," Diane almost whimpered, "That was a rotten thing to do…especially to someone as incapacitated as I am."

"I did it for your own good," Kurt said softly, "You were ready to jump out the window…at least admit you're feeling a little better? You don't sound too bad now."

"I still look like crap…"

"And that's why you're going to have a bath."

-o0o-

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"What happened where?" she mumbled, "I think I'm still a little drunk…"

"Last night."

"I told Beth'ny to come over," she mumbled, eyes closed and he was pretty sure she was nearly falling asleep again while soaking in the tub. She wasn't whiny or complaining anymore and he was glad he'd thought ahead of putting in those ridiculously expensive bath beads she liked to buy. They smelled nice and they made her irresistible to touch, but it seemed it did wonders for her hangover as well. "Needed some girl time…"

"Girl time?"

"Mhm," Diane smiled a little, "Girl talk and all…she's smart, did I tell you that? Sometimes she's too smart…is that how you're here? Did she call you?"

He watched her closely, sitting next to the tub on the mat, legs folded at the knees in front of him with his elbows resting on them. He needed to watch her, just in case she really fell asleep and fell in. He couldn't have her drowning in the bath, not when her best friend was right downstairs and he was pretty sure she was capable of murder.

Plus, even when she was whining and complaining and throwing up, he still liked her, barf and all. It was kind of nice to see her do something incredibly not smart for a change. At least that made her more human and less perfect—it gave him hope that would be able to keep up with her after all.

"Did she?" Diane asked again, blinking her eyes open though they remained half closed.

"Uh, yeah," he nodded. "Before she passed out last night."

"Oh, that's nice," she smiled a little, "But she can be too smart sometimes…I think I need a dumb friend."

He grinned a little, "Where would you get that?"

"Hm," she shrugged, "Don't know…but I'm pretty sure there's one here…somewhere."

"Okay," he nodded, "How are you?"

"A little sleepy," she mumbled, "But I think I'm still a little drunk…did I already say that? I think I did."

He grinned a little, the pills, the juice, bloody Mary and the residual effects of the alcohol she consumed last night were probably making her loopy. It certainly wasn't his intention, but the effect was quite interesting. He wondered if this was what Bethany meant when she said she helped him.

"I…" Diane began then stopped, frowning a little with her eyes closed. "I heard you the other night."

"Heard me?" he echoed and somehow, he couldn't help but notice the way his heart began to beat just a little faster in his chest. He thought they were going to ignore that and he'd been ready for that, but it seemed Diane wanted to discuss it now.

"Mhm," she sighed, "The other night…and it threw me off."

"It did," he nodded. He wasn't an idiot, he saw _that_ one quite clearly even as she lay there underneath him that very night after that very moment.

"…did you mean it?"

Kurt swallowed, staring at her even while she kept her eyes closed.

_Did he mean it? _

-o0o-

"Hello, sleepyhead."

"Shut up," Diane muttered, leaning against Kurt as they walked into the kitchen. She was wrapped in a robe and her hair was still a little wet and she kept her eyes closed. She didn't protest when she was deposited into the chair next to her best friend and didn't seem to care when Bethany placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"I was informed of your…tendency to mimic see-saws today," Bethany said, rubbing her forearm gently, "How are you doing, babe?"

"Fine," Diane mumbled, "Remind me _never_ to drink with you again?"

"You've been saying that for the last…" Bethany paused, pursing her lips slightly. She wasn't about to reveal their age and she didn't care if the damned boyfriend already knew. If anyone asked _her_, she didn't even know her own age anymore. "_Few_ years since we met yet somehow, every month we still manage to get drunk together…isn't that amazing?"

"Has your husband sent the search party yet?" Diane asked, grabbing the pair of sunglasses she wasn't sure who left for her on the island in the kitchen.

"I rang him," she shrugged, "He knows where I am. And thanks for the clothes."

Diane looked her over, breaking into a smile, "You're welcome."

"I was going to grab one of your lover boy's shirts, but he said no," Bethany said smartly, shooting a mischievous glance at the man who was busy preparing yet another batch of drinks for them. "Said you like them a little too much to share."

Diane smiled, "Smart man."

-o0o-

"You sure you're okay?"

Bethany waved a dismissive hand at her, "Fine, fine," she mumbled as she got into her car.

Diane watched her best friend curl into the front seat of her Mercedes Benz, "Please don't fall asleep on the wheel…Bethany?"

"Yes, dear," the curvy blonde said with a smile, "And I know you're shacking up with the cowboy today. After last night, you owe me details, okay, Skinny?"

Diane laughed, "We'll see."

"I swear, if you don't call, I'll call the moment I am sure you're having sex and interrupt you."

"How would you know we're having sex?"

Bethany smiled serenely, "I just do."

The tall blonde shook her head, "Get out of here, crazy."

"Love you too, Skinny."

-o0o-

"God, don't ever make me get up from here…"

They were in her bed in the middle of the day, her head laid on his shoulder while her arm was draped across his chest. She was still suffering from her night of drinking, but it was now in the form of the mildest headache. He still insisted she rehydrate and gave her another Advil, but she insisted she was fine already so they opted instead for her spending the rest of the day resting.

He didn't object and instead, offered himself to be her personal pillow.

She didn't say no.

"Did Bethany really call you?" she asked, blinking lazily as she listened to his heartbeat.

"Mhm," he nodded, "I thought she was drunk dialing, but she seemed pretty sure about what she was saying. Mentioned the drinking, rules of confessions during sex and all that girl crap you were talking about."

Diane smiled, turning her head to bury her face into her shoulder, "Oh, my god…"

"Nah," he said, chuckling a little and squeezing her gently to him. "She didn't say much…I think she was too drunk to figure out anything except she wanted me to come."

"And you came running?"

"She said she'd hunt me down and kill me if I didn't come to you right away," he replied. "She was pretty sure you needed me."

"We both needed you," she mumbled against his shirt, breathing in his scent with a smile while his hand landed on her hair, running his fingers through her blonde locks.

"Yeah, you did."

Diane smiled, turning her head back into its former position and smiling as her eyes drifted towards the windows. It was still snowing and the cold still lingered heavily in the air. It was the perfect day to stay in and do nothing.

"Diane?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you…and I still mean it."


End file.
